


Impressions

by littlecakes



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Ignis Scientia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: Prompto returns to the Citadel after a photography expedition with gifts for Ignis.





	Impressions

It’s exactly one hundred and eleven steps from the town car to the entrance of the Citadel. Ignis knows this because each day, he counts his careful steps from the handicap parking spot out front where Gladio parks the car, up the stairs, and past Nyx’s post out front. The clamor of footfall, voices, and cars whisking around the roundabout in the center of the driveway is nearly deafening. It’s always irritating when there’s this much going on; it makes Ignis feel even more debilitated than normal.

“Ears up, Scientia, iIt’s busy here today,” Nyx says from nearby. “I can give you a hand, if you want.”

“I’ll survive, thank you,” Ignis says with a nod. 

He can hear Gladio’s heavy feet falling behind him in a jog. Ignis knows the Shield is trying to catch up, probably to offer Ignis assistance in navigating his way through the flurry of people around him, just like Nyx did. Ignis waves him off, though, and carefully makes his way through the crowded space. Thankfully, the cane earns him a wide berth and there’s not too much jostling.

It’s been more than a decade since he wore the ring, since it took his sight in payment for the ability to save Noct’s life. The ability to see was worth the price. Ignis doesn’t regret it; he would make the same decision a hundred times over if someone asked him to. He would have given more, if need be, but he’s thankful that’s all the kings took from him.

Ignis can feel every time the tip of his cane catches on the stone walkway in the open-air hallway. The rush of outside air battling for dominance with the artificially circulated air of the Citadel whisks around his ears as he walks through the door, presumably held open for him, before his cane catches one last time and falls upon smooth, polished concrete.

This is where things get challenging. The new, renovated Citadel is smooth nearly everywhere. There’s no familiar brick, no scratch of carpet along his cane to tell him where he is. Sound bounces around this space like an acoustic nightmare. Ignis remembers with shame the many times he walked past his office in confusion only to be guided back by Nyx or some other glaive. That’s why he counts now. If he can just keep track, he’ll find his way with only minor hindrances.

Two hundred and three, two hundred and four, he’s getting close now-

“Iggy!”

Ignis purses his lips and sighs before turning to the source of the voice. It’s Prompto; he can tell from the excitement of the voice and the near skip to the step that approaches him. It’s been a long time since Prompto’s been at the Citadel. He’s been away touring the land of Lucis and taking photographs for his collection celebrating the return of the king and their sun. He can imagine violet eyes twinkling above a brilliant smile and wonders what Prompto looks like now, nearly eleven years since the last time Ignis has seen him.

“Hey Iggy!”

“Prompto,” Ignis says, smiling through the melancholy that’s tickling at the edge of his heart.

“You good, buddy?” Prompto says. Ignis can hear that tiny note of anxiety that hangs off the end of his statement. He nearly forgot how empathetic the blonde can be and realizes he’s given himself away.

Ignis sighs. “It’s a bit busy here today. Makes navigating to my office rather difficult.”

Before Ignis can argue, Prompto’s hand is at Ignis’s back and they’re walking down the hallway. It’s the gentlest, softest touch, not like Nyx or Gladio, who mean well, but  they manhandle him straight down the hall, to the left for eighty-four steps, another left for fifty-two, and then right for thirty-tree until they’re at his office. Rather than a guiding, forceful touch, Prompto’s hand says ‘I’m here,’ instead of ‘follow me.’ Ignis has missed it.

They’re quiet, save for a ‘turn here’ or ‘on your left,’ until they reach Ignis’s office and close the door behind them. The crumple of paper in Prompto’s hands is heard, then the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, before Ignis feels Prompto’s arms encircle his waist and pull him in a tight hug. The smoky, sandy smell of Prompto’s hair whisks into his nose, filling him with memories of afternoon naps, late-night meals around the fire, and chocobos. Ignis holds him tight, daring to bury his nose in those locks of hair. He wonders how many of them are gray now, then wonders if he himself is graying, too.

“It’s good to see you,” Prompto murmurs.

Ignis bites his lip, for he almost returns the sentiment. “I-I’m glad you’re here,” Ignis says. “How was Cleigne?”

“It looks so good, Iggy. The plants are growing back. The trees survived the dark, somehow, but all the little bushes and shrubs and flowers didn’t. Ravatough is amazing. Do you remember when we went?”

“I still remember how excited Vyv was to see your photographs,” Ignis says wistfully. “They were beautiful. Still are, I’m sure.”

The two fall silent. It’s not awkward, but it’s heavy, like the words are hanging in the air, weighing down upon them.

“I have something for you,” Prompto says. His voice is thick, like he’s holding something back. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get it for you.”

Ignis smiles, crossing the large office with ease before sitting at one of the chairs in front of the desk. It’s one of the chairs from his old office that survived the attack on Insomnia so many years ago. The old maple arms are familiar under his fingers, and the smell of polish is strong on his hands. Ignis traces the carved curl in the side of the wood with his fingernails anxiously.

A paper package is thrust into Ignis’s hands. He smirks as he realizes it’s wrapped. Of course Prompto would wrap a gift, even for him. Though the effect is lost on Ignis, the sentiment isn’t, and a familiar warmth floods his heart. Prompto’s feet move across the floor in a repetitive scrape, and Ignis realizes he’s fidgeting. 

“Nervous?” he asks slyly.

“Uh, well, maybe,” Prompto says. “I dunno if you’re gonna like it.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I will,” Ignis says, peeling off the paper and fumbling with the box until he finds the edge of the cardboard. What’s inside is cold and rigid. It feels like metal in his hands. It’s about the size of a piece of paper, and its surface is bumpy and warped distinctively. “Prompto, what is this?”

“When I was in Duscae, I found an artist that works with metal,” Prompto mumbled. “He said he could take a photograph and make it 3D. Like, you know when they emboss a business card, but with my photographs.”

“Alright,” Ignis says hesitantly, tracing his fingers over the cool surface. Shapes start jumping out at him beneath his fingertips. There’s swoops, curves, and points that nearly prick his fingers. It’s mesmerizing to the touch. He hears the chair nearby drag across the floor. Prompto’s warm fingers close gently around his hand, encouraging his fingers to point. Ignis’s heart flutters in his chest with hope and anticipation.

“Here,” he says, guiding Ignis’s fingertips over a smooth curve. “There’s the peak of Ravatough,” he murmurs. Ignis smiles; he can almost smell the sulfur of the volcano, just like they once did together. It curls like tentacles and Ignis can feel each one. It’s not until he feels the bumps around them that his heart catches in his chest; it’s  _ smoke _ , he can feel it right there and the image of the mountain paints the inside of his mind like he’s standing right in front of it.

Prompto pauses before he moves his fingers to another spot. “There’s me,” he whispers. Ignis can feel the peak of his hair and the ridge of his nose. Fingers trailing down, he can even feel the studs on the vest Prompto used to wear and can see the plaid underlayer fluttering in the breeze. The air escapes his lungs as he slowly navigates to the right and feels two lines over another nose in an upside-down L and the spikes of hair. There’s even muscle, gods, Gladio’s muscle is defined right there under his fingers.

“There’s Gladio,” Ignis says softly, a smile twisting his lips.

“Yup,” Prompto says. Ignis can hear the nervous happiness in his voice.

“And Noctis… and me.” Ignis drags his fingers over the surface. “Gods, is Noctis wearing his baseball hat?”

“Remember that day? It was so windy, and his hair kept blowing in his eyes,” Prompto laughs.

“I do, I remember how cranky it made him,” Ignis chuckles. He can’t stop skating his fingers over the embossed surface of the metal. Every face, every ridge stands out to him and soaks his soul in sweet memories. He bites his lip as his good eye grows hot.

“Are there more of these?” Ignis chokes. “Please, Prompto. Tell me there’s more.”

Prompto chuckles. His laugh is more of a breath, like he’s holding it back, too. “Yes, Ignis, there’s more.”

They spend the morning holed up in Ignis’s office. Prompto has brought so many photos. That fateful roadtrip they took so many years ago is fresh in his mind like the days they lived it. Old memories, plain as day, grow under his fingertips like sylleblossoms. Each is more beautiful and radiant than the last. 

Faces he hasn’t seen in a decade are right there in the impression of the metal, almost as if he can see them. Places he hasn’t laid eyes on in just as long are as vivid as if he’s standing right there, smelling and seeing it for himself.

“There’s one more, Iggy,” Prompto says, handing a smaller one to Ignis. The end of it bends backward at a right angle. “It’s, uh, well, I thought maybe you’d wanna keep it here in the office or something, so I had the guy put the angle in it so you can stand it up.”

Ignis smiles. “I’d like that very much.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” Prompto mutters. A blush tingeing freckled cheeks jumps to the forefront of Ignis’s mind. Ignis reaches out, his hand hovering into empty space. He doesn’t even know where Prompto is, but he knows he wants to touch him, to feel the heat under his skin that’ll bring him back down to Earth. Prompto obliges, a gloved hand pressing Ignis’s to a cheek that’s warm and soft. A faint stubble scratches against Ignis’s fingertips. There’s new scars there, ones Ignis can’t remember.

After a moment, Ignis drops his hand from Prompto’s cheek and returns his attention to the photograph. By now, he can recognize faces with just the brush of a fingertip. He feels his own; the peak of hair that stands above his forehead, the ellipses of his eyeglasses, the curve of his own chin, the collar of his shirt are all like the lines of a fingerprint now. They make his imprint in the photograph unique to the touch. Prompto’s face is by his- he can tell by the faintest sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his nose that feel like sand- and they’re pressed together. There’s coffee cups and what Ignis realizes is a blanket, too.

His heart can hardly take it. The heat that’s been brimming behind his eye spills over as he purses his lips as tight as he can, trying to hold it in. The photograph in his hands is one he thought he’d never see again.

“This is that morning at Galdin Quay. The very same day you lost your memory card. I thought you’d lost this photo,” Ignis says quietly.

Prompto’s laugh is strained. “Yeah, well, I found it in the bottom of a tent bag in Gladio’s closet awhile back.”

“They’d gone for a run and we had the haven to ourselves…” Ignis says. “I remember it fondly.”

“Me too,” Prompto murmurs. Ignis can feel Prompto’s cheek sag against his shoulder.

If Prompto can see him crying, he doesn’t say anything, and for that Ignis is grateful. There’s just the reassuring squeeze of a hand and the steady fall of breath that comforts him. He tries to grapple with the emotion using what little logic he can muster right now, but it’s useless. The photographs he holds in his hands, that he  _ sees _ with his hands, are too powerful.

“Thank you, Prompto,” Ignis murmurs, urging himself to escape the photo for just a moment to grasp his friend’s hand. “You’ve no idea what these mean to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! Happy Friday <3


End file.
